Page 30 of Meet Me In The Dark

When I sit down, she steps behind me, and I feel her fingertips at the edge of my mask. She gently removes it and replaces it with something heavier until all I see is darkness.

A blindfold.

It’s soft but snug. No slits. No light. Just black.

The moment it’s secured, everything becomes sharper—my hearing, my breathing, the sensation of the chair’s upholstery beneath my fingertips.

“You’re safe,” Nina murmurs. “Just wait. He’ll come to you.”

Then, she’s gone.

The door closes quietly, and I’m alone in the dark, blindfolded, with every nerve alert.

“I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.

Please don’t let me puke on the first man I touch in two years. That’s definitely grounds for getting banned.

I grip the edges of the chair as if I’m bracing for turbulence on a flight I willingly boarded without a seatbelt, no escape hatch, and apparently, no vision.

Breathe, Celeste.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Try not to spiral. Try not to pass out before anything even happens.

I keep doing that until I hear the sound of the door opening on the other side of the room.

There’s a shift in pressure and a faint swirl of cologne in the air.

It hits me like a drug. It’s clean, but with a darker undertone that lingers at the back of my throat.

He doesn’t speak at first, or maybe he took one look at me and decided I’m not for him.

“Would you like to leave?” His voice hits me. It’s smooth yet gravelly in a way that feels expensive, like a long sip of aged whiskey, warm and slow as it sinks into your bones.

It’s only a voice.

Maybe it’s the blindfold.

Everything feels sharper in the dark.

That has to be it.

Remembering that he asked me a question, I shake my head. “No.”

He inches closer, but I can’t hear his footsteps. I only notice the warmth in the air shifting.

“Is this your first time?”

“Yes.” My voice is small.

“Then we’ll go slow. Just talking, for now. You set the pace.”

My shoulders drop an inch. Not much, but enough.

“What’s your name?”

I don’t answer right away. Something about giving this man my name feels too personal.

He must sense my hesitation because he moves on. “How does the blindfold feel?”